


Mercy

by Eida



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aborted No Mercy Route, Gen, Post-Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 03:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5895730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eida/pseuds/Eida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They made me do it.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>After losing, repeatedly, to Asgore during their first trip through the Underground, Frisk has given up and reset the timeline. They were too weak, they thought--if they ever wanted to go home, they'd need to be stronger.</p>
<p>They've been clinging to that idea--that killing isn't really their fault if the monsters attack first--throughout their second timeline. It's what allows them to fight back when they're attacked, even when they know that they could choose to have mercy. It lets them justify their desire to get stronger, so they don't have to be afraid of a place where it seems like so many monsters want to attack them.</p>
<p>And then someone refuses to fight, and the whole rationalization comes toppling down around Frisk's ears, and Frisk is left wondering how to go on.</p>
<p>Maybe it isn't really kill or be killed.</p>
<p>Maybe there's a way to find a happy ending for everyone.</p>
<p>Maybe they can try again, and do better this time.</p>
<p>(In which Frisk begins, then aborts, a Genocide run.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mercy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prosodiical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/gifts).



> I really enjoyed your Papyrus & Sans & Frisk prompt, and I hope you enjoy this treat.
> 
> (Note: Most of Papyrus's dialogue during Frisk's confrontation with him is lifted directly from the Genocide route of the game.)

As it turned out, it got easier to kill if you did it enough times.

Frisk’s clothing was powdered in dusk; they’d tried to brush it off at first, but in the end they’d realized it was pointless. There was too much dust. Too much death. That sort of thing wasn’t easy to wash away.

They remembered Toriel. This had been the second time they’d killed her.

They could say that, now—or rather, think it—without feeling like they’d been punched in the gut. 

Not that it didn't still hurt. It did. It probably always would.

_She made me do it,_ Frisk thought, their gloved hands curling into fists. _They all did._

Self defense. It was all in self defense. Frisk had the right to do that, didn’t they?

But the second time had been worse than the first. That look on Toriel’s face, when Frisk had managed to strike her down with one blow… Toriel had _known_ what Frisk had been doing. How many monsters they’d killed. How they’d emptied out the ruins, all for the sake of getting stronger.

All for the sake of getting strong enough to escape this awful place, full of monsters who wanted them dead.

Frisk sniffled, then, angry at themselves, rubbed at their eyes with their sleeve. It wasn’t their fault. None of this was their fault! They hadn't asked for any of this!

It was the monsters that had kept attacking them. True, Frisk had been trying to get the monsters to attack by wandering around far more than necessary—Frisk already knew exactly where they needed to go. They’d done it all before, after all, back before they’d realized that Flowey had been telling the truth.

In this world, it was kill, or be killed.

If they wanted to escape, they’d really have no choice. Alphys had told her as much. Frisk would need to take Asgore’s soul in order to escape.

But that was only fair. Asgore was trying to take Frisk’s soul, after all. He deserved it.

But he was stronger than Frisk had been. Frisk had tried to avoid hurting monsters, the first time through. They’d felt so terrible about killing Toriel, but that had been an accident—they’d thought Toriel would give up, eventually. Their last blow had been far more powerful than they’d intended…

They could have reset, but they’d realized, then, that Toriel would never let them pass, no matter how much Frisk tried to prove that they were strong enough to survive. And Frisk had the right to go home, didn’t they?

So what happened to Toriel wasn’t Frisk’s fault. Toriel had made Frisk do it.

Just like Asgore had made Frisk do this, now, by killing Frisk again, and again, and again, until Frisk finally gave up trying to fight him. Frisk knew, then, that they were too weak.

They needed to get stronger.

They needed to get more LOVE, more EXP. More power. Enough so no one could ever hurt them again, because mercy had turned out to be useless in the end.

They remembered dying, not just to Asgore, but to other monsters as well. It had hurt. They’d all been trying to hurt Frisk, just because Frisk was human. So why should they care about monsters? They were the ones who'd decided to attack in the first place. Frisk had the right to strike back, right?

Frisk swallowed.

Something inside Frisk—some sense they’d never known they had, on their first trip through the Underground—told them that Snowdin was almost empty of monsters.

There were only two left.

Frisk made their way through Snowdin Town, stopping to loot the shop—they remembered how kind the innkeeper had been, letting them take a nap for free. They wouldn’t have killed the innkeeper, they thought. The innkeeper wouldn’t have attacked them. The innkeeper never got in their way.

But everyone still living had run away. Frisk couldn’t blame them for being scared, not when Frisk’s hands were powdered in dust, and Frisk's eyes had gotten so horribly cold.

Frisk just wanted to be stronger. They just wanted to go home.

It wasn’t their fault.

Frisk kept walking.

They knew what was next.

They walked into the outskirts of town, and then beyond. Snow swirled around them, making it hard to see.

They kept walking. It would clear.

After a few moments, Frisk could see the silhouette of a tall figure, standing in the distance.

One more fight.

They took a deep breath. They could do this.

“Halt, human!” said Papyrus.

Frisk stepped forward.

“Hey, quit moving while I’m talking to you!” Papyrus said. “I, the Great Papyrus, have some things to say.”

Frisk paused. He obviously had a monologue prepared. For some reason, Frisk felt compelled to stop and listen to it, before…

Before…

Well, before Papyrus attacked, the way they knew he would.

Before he would make them kill him, the way the other monsters did.

“First: You’re a freaking weirdo!” Papyrus said.

Frisk shifted, and briefly reconsidered moving forward again. They didn’t need to listen to this. Of course Papyrus wouldn’t understand.

“Not only do you not like puzzles,” Papyrus continued, “but the way you shamble about from place to place… the way your hands are always covered in dusty powder. It feels… like your life is going down a dangerous path.”

Dangerous for who?

The real dangerous path had been before, when Frisk had been foolish enough to think that mercy did any good.

“However!” said Papyrus. “I, Papyrus, see great potential within you! Everyone can be a great person if they try!”

A lump formed in Frisk’s throat. They swallowed hard.

Frisk knew they weren’t a “great person.” They were a kid who just wanted to go _home_. They’d never wanted to fight.

But in this world… in the Underground… there wasn’t a choice. Even if they’d wanted to believe there was one, at first.

“And me, I hardly have to try at all!!” Papyrus exclaimed, then burst into his trademark “Nyeh heh heh!”

The corners of Frisk’s mouth twitched. It was… funny, Papyrus acting his usual, egotistical self.

Papyrus. One of two monsters they’d thought that, maybe, they could almost call a friend. They hadn’t taken him up on his offer to hang out, that first time around. They’d been too eager to move on, at first, and later… they hadn’t had the nerve to face him after they killed Undyne.

They would have spared Undyne, if they’d been able—but Undyne had said that she would never, ever allow herself to be spared. So Frisk killed her. It wasn’t Frisk’s fault, really it wasn’t—Undyne had been trying to kill them. There’d been no other way.

So they’d never gone back to see Papyrus again.

Seeing him like this was enough to make their resolve waver.

But no. He’d talk about how everyone could be great, but talk was easy. After he finished his little spiel, he’d attack them, just like before. He’d try to hurt them.

Frisk wasn’t going to let him.

They stepped forward again. Closer, closer. Finish this. Move on. Grow stronger. _Win._

Go home.

Not that they had much of a home, up there, but at least there random monsters didn’t try to attack them and steal their soul.

“Hey, quit moving!” Papyrus protested again. “This is exactly what I am talking about!”

Frisk curled their hands into fists, trying to steel themselves.

“Human! I think you are in need of guidance,” said Papyrus. “Someone needs to keep you on the straight and narrow! But worry not! I, Papyrus… will gladly be your friend and tutor!”

Frisk knew what was coming next.

He’d turn around and say that, no, he couldn’t. He’d need to capture Frisk, and deliver them to Asgore to be killed. He’d claimed he didn’t know what Asgore would do. He’d said that Asgore was nice.

But in the end, he would have gotten Frisk killed, if Frisk hadn’t managed to avoid his attacks long enough to wear him out.

Frisk waited.

“I will turn your life right around!!!” Papyrus exclaimed, with no sign that his enthusiasm was flagging.

Frisk moved forward once more. Now, he’d attack them. Now, he’d make them fight.

“I see you are approaching,” said Papyrus. “Are you offering a hug of acceptance? Wow!! My lessons are already working!! I, Papyrus, welcome you with open arms!” He spread his arms wide, grinning.

*** Papyrus is sparing you.**

Frisk stood, stock-still, staring at the skeleton.

No. This wasn’t right.

He was supposed to try and capture Frisk. He was supposed to try and deliver Frisk to their death.

He wasn’t supposed to just… stand there.

Frisk began to tremble.

They could kill him, just like they’d killed so many other monsters. It would be easy. They could catch him off-guard, and probably kill him in one blow.

Just like they’d killed Toriel.

Their breathing grew heavy. Frisk tried to will themselves to move.

_No._

_I… I can’t._

Even after everything Frisk had done—and for all his naivety, Papyrus must have known some of it, given the fact that Snowdin had been evacuated—he’d chosen not to fight them.

He thought Frisk could be a good person.

He believed in them.

And when all the justification Frisk had clung to, all this time, was _They started it_ —how could they possibly kill someone who had come up to them, knowing how many they killed, and earnestly refused to fight? Who, in fact, was giving them the chance to kill him, all to try and stop them—not by killing Frisk, or capturing them, but by trying to get them to choose a different path?

Frisk took a deep, shuddering breath, and burst into tears.

They covered their face with their hands—their awful, dusty hands—and cried. They felt bony arms enfolding them.

“There, there,” said Papyrus. “It will be all right!”

No. It wouldn’t.

But Frisk didn’t argue.

* * *

The world seemed too quiet as Frisk made their way to Waterfall.

In truth, they didn’t really feel much like going through Waterfall again, and having to face Undyne; they were moving less out of a desire to reach a destination than out of a desire to not stay still.

They weren’t sure what to do at all.

They were strong, now. Maybe even strong enough to fight Asgore and win, this time.

But what Papyrus had done, just now…

It had forced Frisk to stop and think about what they were doing.

And when Frisk looked at themselves—really looked at what they’d become…

They were ashamed.

Those monsters had friends, and families. And Frisk had known that they didn’t _have_ to kill them.

Even if they’d been the ones to attack Frisk, rather than the other way around… Frisk had still _known_ , as only someone who’d done all this before could have known, that almost all of them could be easily spared.

A few kind words. Not being a bully. Laughing at a joke.

It was so simple not to kill.

Frisk had to choose to be violent. There were other options.

Usually, anyways.

They thought about Toriel, and Undyne, and even that creepy spider lady in Hotland. Frisk had killed all three of them during their first trip through the Underground; they hadn’t seen any other option. Frisk had tried to spare all three—Frisk had tried acting in various ways, and it hadn’t seemed to help; after dying to Undyne and the spider lady—Muffet, that was her name—a few times, Frisk had given up, earlier guilt over Toriel be darned.

But now Frisk couldn’t help but wonder if the real problem was that they’d simply given up too soon.

And that was what they’d done, wasn’t it? They’d given up.

They’d killed out of frustration.

Monsters—people—who would have been alive were dead, now, and they didn’t really have to be. Frisk had killed to achieve their goals.

And that was who they were, now. A killer. Whatever Papyrus said.

They could go on like this. They could kill more monsters, and get even stronger. Or they could just keep going, and try not to kill anymore. They thought they could probably defeat Asgore pretty handily, now. Ordinary monsters barely seemed to put up a fight.

But they’d still have to live with the knowledge of what they’d done.

Papyrus had said he’d be waiting back at the house—but how could Frisk go back and act like everything was normal? How could they act like they were somebody that any monster—let alone someone as obviously goofy and non-violent as Papyrus—would want to be around?

The snow grew thinner. The crunch of snow beneath Frisk’s feet gave way to the soft, echoing sound of footfalls on bare stone.

There was a guard station ahead, and a skeleton was inside.

“Hey. Kid,” said Sans, as Frisk approached.

Frisk stopped in their tracks.

“Thanks,” said Sans. “For not… you know.”

Frisk looked away. For not killing Papyrus like they’d killed everyone else.

They swallowed.

“Kid. I have to ask. Why?” said Sans. “I know what you were doing. We all got the evacuation orders. Papyrus just didn’t want to follow ‘em. Thought he could get through to you. Guess he was right.” Sans shook his head. “So, why?”

Why? That was a broad question, and Frisk wasn’t sure how to answer.

Why had they been killing everyone? Why had they been deliberately trying to pick fights?

Why had they killed everyone else, and not Papyrus?

“He didn’t try to kill me,” said Frisk, after a few moments. “He… he wouldn’t fight. I couldn’t…”

Sans looked at Frisk steadily. “I see,” he said. “What are you going to do now?”

“…I don’t know,” Frisk admitted. “I can’t… I didn’t have to,” they said.

“Didn’t have to what?” Sans asked.

“I didn’t have to kill them,” said Frisk. “I could have found another way. I could have run, or talked, or figured out something else. I just… I just wanted to go home. I hate this. I hate having to fight for my life every few steps. I just wanted to be strong enough that I didn’t have to be scared anymore. I just…” They trailed off. Their throat hurt, and they felt like they were going to start crying again.

Sans sighed. “I get it. You’re a kid. You were scared. You lashed out, and you hurt a lot of people. But what’s past is past. And you can’t change the past. Can you?”

His eyes flickered for a moment, his irises disappearing, leaving the sockets empty and black.

And then, a moment later, they were back to normal.

“What I’m trying to say is… what matters is where you go from here. What are you going to do now?” Sans asked.

“I don’t know,” said Frisk. “I wish… I wish you’d all just let me leave. I wish monsters would stop attacking me. I just want to go home.”

“I wish all the monsters hadn't been sealed underground in the first place,” said Sans, shrugging. “But like I said. Can’t change the past. And you can’t change what other people do, except by making them react to you. The only thing you can really control is what you do. Of course, I prefer to do nothing, if I can get away with it,” said Sans. His tone was light, but Frisk didn’t think there was any real mirth in it. “But you, now… well. You don’t seem like the type of person who’d be satisfied just letting things happen. So. What now?”

“I don’t…” Frisk repeated, then trailed off. They shook their head. “I just…”

_And you can’t change the past. Can you?_

Did Sans know, somehow? Had he guessed what Frisk could do?

Because Frisk _could_ change the past. They could rewrite things so that none of this had ever happened. They could fix everything.

Frisk would still remember, of course. But everyone else… all the monsters who had died at Frisk’s hands would be alive again.

And what then?

Would Frisk just have to stay with Toriel forever?

Or was there some other way? Some way that didn’t involve killing? Some way where everyone got their happy ending?

“I’m going back,” said Frisk, a new sense of determination filling them.

Sans nodded. “All right. You take care of yourself, okay? There’s someone who really cares about you, you know. Back in the Ruins. I used to talk to her.”

“I know,” said Frisk, lowering their eyes. “I know.”

Frisk closed their eyes, and reset.

* * *

The sky was even more beautiful than Frisk remembered it.

But then, everything looked better, these days.

They had a real family, like they’d always dreamed. Toriel was her usual, maternal, somewhat-overprotective self, and Frisk loved her for it.

The earlier resentment Frisk had felt--for the way Toriel had tried to keep Frisk in the Ruins, and, far less reasonably, for the fact that Frisk had felt that Toriel forced them to kill her--had disappeared entirely. Frisk knew, now, that Toriel would have never _really_ hurt them, for all that Frisk had been terrified of her fireballs at first.

Frisk had come to feel far more affection for all the monsters they came across during their third and final trip through the Underground--after they'd resolved not to kill, they'd been able to allow themselves to get attached. They'd returned to Papyrus' house to hang out, and had even befriended Undyne, which Frisk hadn't thought was possible the first time around, given how much Undyne had seemed to hate Frisk. Letting Undyne live had also removed that underlying awkwardness that had filled Frisk's interactions with Alphys the first time.

They couldn't imagine ever hurting any of them, ever again.

Everything had been better--even if Frisk was technically weaker on that third journey, it hadn't seemed to matter as much. They'd become more skillful, more practiced, better able to survive, even at LV 1.

Frisk still had nightmares, sometimes, about the way Toriel had looked as Frisk had killed her. Eyes wide in shock… body trembling under the strain of holding itself together…

Some nights, Frisk woke up in the middle of the night, sobbing. They had to remind themselves that they’d fixed everything, now. Everyone was alive. Frisk had found a happy ending for everyone…

…well, everyone but Asriel.

Frisk wondered, sometimes, if there was something they could do. But they hadn’t thought of anything. Was it that they hadn’t tried hard enough, or were some things just not fixable?

If their ability to reset went farther back, maybe they could have changed things so neither Asriel or his human foster sibling had died.

But it didn’t, and Frisk couldn’t, and Asriel… Flowey… had asked Frisk not to try. Not to reset. Not to take away everyone else’s happiness for the sake of looking for a happier ending that probably didn’t exist.

So Frisk did their best to live their life as best as they could.

Sans and Papyrus were coming for dinner tonight. Papyrus had promised to bring a big bowl of spaghetti, and while Toriel had accepted his offer graciously, she was preparing enough food for everyone to eat their fill without necessarily touching the spaghetti.

Though Frisk would still serve some, because they knew that would make Papyrus happy. Maybe the spaghetti would be better this time. Maybe.

And if not, well, Frisk wasn’t half bad at pushing food around their plate to make it look partially-eaten, and then stealthily relocating the rest into the garbage. Toriel never let Frisk get away with trying that trick with vegetables, but in this case, Toriel made an exception, provided Frisk was discreet.

Neither of them wanted to hurt Papyrus’s feelings, though Toriel couldn’t possibly know how deep Frisk’s sense of obligation to Papyrus went.

_He saved me. He saved everyone, really. But who could I possibly tell about it?_

How would Toriel react to being told “I killed you. Twice. And I killed a lot of other monsters, too. I’m friends with some of them, now, but I remember watching their bodies crumble to dust”?

Frisk didn’t even want to think about it.

The doorbell rang.

“Can you answer that, Frisk?” Toriel asked. “I’m finishing up the salad.”

Frisk nodded, then hurried off to answer the door.

“Human!” Papyrus cried, with his usual enthusiasm. “How wonderful it is to see you on this fine evening! As you can see, I’ve brought with me some of my world-famous spaghetti!” He displayed the bowl proudly. “I’ve been trying out a new recipe for the sauce, and I think you’ll really like it!”

“I’m sure we will,” said Frisk, smiling, and stepping aside to let the skeleton brothers in.

“‘Sup,” said Sans, entering after his brother. “How’s Toriel doing?”

“Good,” said Frisk. “She’s in the kitchen. Dinner’s almost ready; she’s just finishing the salad.” A sudden inspiration struck, and Frisk continued. “She’ll _lettuce_ all eat, soon.”

Sans’ ever-present grin seemed to grow a fraction wider. “I’ve trained you well, kid. Well, lentil then, lima going to go and see if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“Sans, you’re a terrible influence!” Papyrus exclaimed, placing the spaghetti in the middle of the table.

Then, Toriel’s voice called from the kitchen, “You can help me move everything to the table. Then we can all endive right in!”

Papyrus groaned, and Frisk giggled.

The meal went well. Frisk thought they noticed a distinct improvement in the quality of Papyrus’s spaghetti—whatever new thing he’d tried, it was working, and they told him so, which made him beam with delight, though he followed that up with a confident sounding “Of course! The great Papyrus is a culinary mastermind! Well, so long as spaghetti is involved. But I’m branching out! I’m thinking of trying linguini next time!”

“Sounds pici to me,” said Sans. “Rotelle you what, I think it’s pasta time you tried something new.”

“Sans!” said Papyrus. “Must you always do this?”

“Now, now,” said Toriel, trying to hide a smile. “Settle down. You’re both being terribly fusilli.”

“Toriel!” Papyrus cried. “Why!”

Frisk giggled again, and said, “If you had a penne for every pun they both make…”

“Not you too, Frisk!” Papyrus cried. “Well, if we’re going to descend into punnery…” He paused a moment, then looked towards Frisk. “Well. I can see the apple doesn’t fall farfalle from the tree!” He paused again, his eyes narrowing. “Hmm. I’m not sure that sounds quite right…”

“It was a good one,” Frisk reassured him.

“Keep practicing, and soon you’ll be just as punny as I am,” said Sans.

A look of mild consternation came over Papyrus’s face. “On second thought, forget I said anything!”

The four of them finished supper, and Papyrus eagerly volunteered to help Toriel wash the dishes—“I’ve been developing a brand-new scrubbing technique! No speck of dirt will escape the great Papyrus!” he’d said. “Just leave it all to me!”

“Well,” said Toriel, sounding a bit apprehensive, “That’s very kind of you to offer, but perhaps I should still help.”

With the both of them busy in the kitchen, Sans and Frisk were left temporarily to their own devices.

“So. Kid,” said Sans. “Something eating you?”

“Um.” Frisk had thought they’d been pretty cheerful over dinner, for all that their thoughts had taken a rather dark bent before Sans and Papyrus had shown up.

“I guess,” said Frisk. They swallowed. “Um. Sans. If… if I tell you something that sounds really strange, would you believe me?”

“I guess it depends on what you’re telling me,” said Sans. “But you seem like a pretty honest kid. What’s up?”

“I… I have this… ever since I fell into the Underground, I’ve had this ability to... go back in time. To reset. I can only go so far back as when I first woke up down there. I’ve… done it twice before.”

“Just twice?” Sans asked, looking at Frisk steadily.

“Well, I’ve reset all the way twice,” said Frisk. “I’ve… also had to reset some other times when… when I died. Not all the way back, just a little ways before.”

Sans nodded. “I see.”

“And I did some bad things, Sans,” said Frisk, their voice getting lower. “Like, really bad. I… I killed monsters. A lot of them. I almost…” Her voice got very, very small. “I almost hurt your brother. But he… he was kind to me. Even though I’d hurt a lot of people. And I realized…” Frisk sniffled, and looked down at their hands. “I realized that if he wasn’t going to fight me, after I’d hurt all those monsters, then I didn’t really have to either. I’d been telling myself that I did, that it wasn’t wrong, because they attacked first, but… I knew I could have run away, or talked them out of it, or done _something_ instead of just… hurting people. Killing people.”

“So you went back,” said Sans.

Frisk nodded, not quite daring to look up. “I wanted to fix everything. But… I remember. I remember everything.”

Sans said nothing for a moment. “Frisk. I think, in the end, you’re not a bad person. You did some bad things, yeah… but in the end, you went back. You made things right. That doesn’t erase the fact that you hurt people. But at least _they_ don’t remember it, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Frisk. “I guess.”

“Are you happy now?” Sans asked, sounding oddly serious. “Are you satisfied with how things turned out?”

Frisk thought a moment, then nodded. “…yes. I mean… there was one person… I tried to help. But I couldn’t. And he asked me not to go back and try. So… I think this is the best I can do.”

“You’re not planning on resetting any more?” Sans asked.

Frisk shook their head. “No. Never again. I want to stay here. I want to stay here with Toriel, and Papyrus, and you, and all my other friends.”

Sans nodded, looking satisfied. “Then that’s all that matters. You freed all of us from the underground. You’ve made a lot of monsters happy. On the whole, you’ve done good, kid… and honestly, I think you’ve learned your lesson. Just don’t do it again, all right?”

“ _Never,_ ” said Frisk, vehemently.

“Then I’d say we’re good. Shake on it?” Sans held out a hand.

Frisk hesitated a moment. Then, resigned to once again being the victim of the whoopee-cushion-in-the-hand trick, they took Sans’ hand…

…and found nothing but bone.

Sans gave them a firm handshake, then released them. Noticing Frisk’s confusion, Sans added, “Hey, I don’t prank people _all_ the time. I can be a serious skeleton sometimes! Besides, I don’t want to get predictable, do I?” He winked. “And besides,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in closer. “I already stuck my whoopee cushion in Toriel’s chair. Don’t tell her, all right?”

“I won’t,” Frisk promised, smiling.


End file.
